


The Crossover That No One Needed

by bunnymatsu



Category: Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni, Heathers (1988)
Genre: Based on the BMC book, Crossover, I Just Liked it, Other, Weirdness, this was actually an English project, you can ignore this story if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnymatsu/pseuds/bunnymatsu
Summary: This was written for an English project, and I was proud of it. It's based on the Be More Chill book and the Heathers movie, not the musicals.





	The Crossover That No One Needed

I wake up in second period, hoping that no one noticed I was asleep. It's weird, because I don't remember sleeping. Luckily, no one seems to be paying any attention to me. My eyes are bleary with sleep, so I wipe some of that gross eye crust out of them. Everything looks different. Not just the different that it gets during the holidays with all the tacky student made decorations, but as if it's a different room entirely. In fact, the more I look, the more I realize. This is a different room. The people in it aren't people I recognize either. No more Jenna Rolan talking about 'Elizabeth’ (who I'm sure is just her alter ego or something), no Anne laughing like ‘bwer her her’ in response. And perhaps the most disappointing, no Christine. Beautiful, smart, funny, perfect Christine. I clutch a pencil case in my lap as I lift my head with a groan, quickly covering the little spot of drool on my paper with my elbow.

Everyone in the classroom looks like they've just sprouted out of an 80s film or something. Big, fluffy hair. Colorful clothes that would embarrass the crap out of you at my actual school. What the hell is going on? I can't tell. I look down at my backpack, it's brown, not red. My clothes are… More blue than I remembered. God, I bet Michael would have a field day in this place, considering his obsession with 'retro’ things. The whole room looks outdated. I blink myself more awake, hoping this is some weird hallucination, but I end up catching sight of the blackboard at the front of the room. In cursive, the date is written. 

September 1st, 1989.

This is a really weird joke. I feel my stomach doing flips. I don't know where I am, what school I'm in, or who these people are. And now I've apparently traveled back in time? Who knows? Definitely not me. The bell rings too quickly, it sounds way more shrill and old fashioned than the one in Middle Borough. I'm not even in New Jersey anymore, am I? I scramble to put my things away, and I can suddenly see the knees of three girls. Why are they waiting for me like that? I swallow some excess saliva that I only seem to generate when I'm nervous. 

“Come on, Jeremy.” One of the girls sighs impatiently and taps her foot. I finally look up at them. Two are blonde, one with fluffy brown hair. The one with brown hair seems to be dressed in green, and the others are color coded too. Yellow, and red. Why am I in the 80s with three traffic light girls? That's what the color scheme reminds me of. And me, apparently I'm blue. The red girl stares at me coldly, crossing her arms. She's wearing white knee socks too. Huh. I try not to stare at her legs, and I nervously sling my backpack over my shoulder, standing. 

“Finally! Took you long enough. And what were you doing, sleeping in class?” The green girl scoffs. “Shut up, Heather. Come on Jeremy, it's time for the lunchtime poll.” The red girl rolls her eyes, addressing the green one. Apparently the green girl's name is Heather. Heather looks defeated, looking at the ground before mumbling “Sorry Heather.” Apparently the red one is also named Heather. Huh.

I walk with the traffic light themed Heathers-- And whatever the yellow ones’ name is. If she's Heather too then I'm going to lose it. Absolutely, definitely. When we get to the cafeteria, it's hectic. It looks exactly like one of those high school movies. You know, the ones where there are obvious stereotyped cliques everywhere. It's almost painful to look at, all of the bright colors. God, this really is the 80s. 

The girls and I sit down at an empty table. We have our own table? That's different. At Middle Borough, Michael and I usually sit on the floor. It's not comfortable, sure, but we stare at girls’ calves as they walk past so it's a good deal. Though, Christine's were the most perfect… Crap, the red Heather is staring at me. 

“Jeremy. Focus! God, did you have a brain tumor for breakfast or something?” She shoots me a mean look, rolling her eyes. “Gah- I uh- What?” My stuttering earns a little laugh from all three of them. “I asked you if you're going to help me with the lunchtime poll question today. You seem so out of it.” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in that way that disappointed adults do. I ignore how sweaty my palms are, this girl scares me. “Oh, uh, yeah, definitely… What's the question?” I hope I won't be mocked for that, I hope I wasn't supposed to know already. The green Heather joins me, though. “Yeah Heather, what's the question?” She smiles. Red Heather glares at her. Now her meanness is directed at the other Heather, wonderful. “God-damn Heather, you were with me in study hall when I thought of it. Such a pillowcase.” “I forgot..” Green Heather sighs, looking mildly hurt.

A pillowcase? What does that even mean? I shake my head, tuning out again. I need to know what's happening. Before I can process things, red Heather is grabbing my wrist and pulling me up, walking with me to a table.

On the way though, I catch sight of a guy in a trench coat sitting in the corner, next to a kid who's just sleeping. I stare at him, and end up bumping into some girl. She looks cute, nicer than the traffic light triplets. “Gah-! Sorry!” She ignores my apology and smiles. “Jeremy! Hey.. I dug up some old photos, want to see?” Red Heather taps her foot and looks disapproving, but I can't bring myself to say no. “Oh, um, yeah!” I smile, and the girl pulls up photos of… Me as a kid, with some little girl that I assume to be her. “Oh, these are.. Great.” I feign enthusiasm and she buys it. Really, I'm terrified. “By the way! No hard feelings about not making it to my birthday last month… Your mom said you had a big date. Hah, I'd probably miss my own birthday for a date..” She flashes me a small smile. “Oh, don't say that..” I chuckle anxiously, and I'm almost relieved when red Heather yanks me away. The photos fall to the floor, and I feel bad. “I was talking to somebody!” I protest vaguely, just wanting people to know I'm not a total jerk. 

We walk to a table full of kids who look rich. At least, for the time. I notice that Heather is holding a clipboard. Is this the lunchtime poll or whatever? 

“You win five million dollars from Publishers Sweepstakes, but on the same day what's-  
his-face gives you the check, aliens land on earth and say they're going to blow up the world in two days. What do you do?” She asks, twirling the pencil in her fingers. Even her nail polish is red. Does this mean something? I can't tell. Maybe she just likes red. 

The girl sitting closest to us at the table looks at the others, seeming to debate with herself, before the guy across from her speaks up. 

“Easy, I'd slide that wad right over to my father. He's one of the top brokers in the state.” I roll my eyes. Doesn't he remember that the basis of the question had to do with the destruction of the world? Oh well, it doesn't matter much really. Heather forces a little laugh. “Sure. What about you, Courtney?” She asks the girl from earlier. “I'd give it all to the homeless,” She smiles. “Every cent.” I scoff, she doesn't seem like the type. “You're beautiful.” I say, almost sarcastically. Heather widens her eyes and drags me away. 

“If you're going to openly be a jerk--” I cut her off without thinking. “Just um… Why do I need to come with you?” “Jeremy Heere. What is wrong with you today? It's like you don't remember anything. You know, fine. I'll do the rest by myself.” Red Heather storms away, leaving me near the table where we'd sat before. I sit next to the yellow girl, I still don't know her name. Green Heather is reading something. The Catcher in the Rye. This is boring, I decide. I'm still disoriented and confused, nothing is seeming to be right around here. 

A few minutes pass, and all the traffic light girls are together again, standing near the trash cans. I catch sight of that edgy looking guy again, and he makes eye contact. I quickly avert my eyes. Crap, I can't deal with anyone looking at me. Yellow girl nudges me. “Drool much? His name is Jason Dean.” She snickers. “Look, yellow girl. I don't know what the hell is going on, but you don't need to call me gay on top of that.” Except I don't say that. “I- Er- Thanks,” is what actually comes out of my mouth. “Mmhm.” She hums, grinning. I kind of hate that grin right now. Red Heather rolls her eyes and walks away, taking green Heather with her. “Come on, Heather.” Green Heather pulls yellow girl with her. Holy crap. They're all named Heather. This has got to be some weird joke, but it isn't. I'm even more confused now. Why do they seem to sort of like me? Why am I with them? I don't know.

I find myself looking at the edgy guy again, Jason Dean, and he smiles at me. I get a bad feeling about him, but my feet seem to pull me toward him anyway. 

“Hello, Jason Dean.” Why why why. Why did I just say his name like that? He doesn't seem to mind, though. “Greetings and salutations. You a Heather?” He jokes, my name clearly isn't Heather. “No. I'm a Jeremy.. Heere.” I decide to inform him of my last name for a reason I don't understand truly. I don't know what to say now, but then I think. The lunchtime poll? I think I remember the question.

“Okay, this may be a stupid question, but..”

“There are no stupid questions.”

“Alright, well… Say you win five million,” I think it was five million? I guess it doesn't matter. “Dollars, and on the same day that you get that uh… Giant check thing, aliens um.. Land on the earth and say they're gonna blow it up in two days.” Two? Three? I don't remember. “What do you do?” I fiddle around with the sleeve of my jacket, sitting across from him. 

“That's the stupidest question I've ever heard.” He sounds more amused, maybe bewildered, than upset. That's reassuring. 

“Probably just row on out to the middle of a lake. Bring along my sax, some tequila, and some Bach.” He stretches back in his seat. I nod. “Cool.” This kid plays the saxophone? Somehow, I wouldn't have suspected that. 

My thoughts are interrupted when red Heather speaks up, making me aware of her presence. “Come on.” She says. There's no request in her tone, it's demanding. I nod half-heartedly. “Later,” I address Jason Dean once more. “Definitely.” He nods. He seems cool, so I might have another friend. Someone better than the Heathers. I walk away with red Heather, who leads me back to our table. Everything is loud. I can vaguely hear several conversations, and when I look back, I see two of the jock dudes from a different table going to harass Jason. I'm too nervous to give things much thought, so I turn my attention back to the girls. They don't seem too nice to be around. In fact, it's draining. I hear a chair scoot back as if someone has stood up, and then… Two gunshots. Woah. 

It's a few hours later now. I understand what happened, but it's still terrifying. Jason Dean shot the jocks- Kurt and Ram- with blanks. Don't ask me how he got away with that at all. Now, I'm at a nice house with the Heathers. They're playing croquet and I'm hoping they don't notice my extreme lack of skills and understanding of the rules. “God, they won't expel him!” Yellow Heather speaks up. “He used a real gun. They should throw his ass in jail.” Red Heather rolls her eyes, hitting the red ball with her mallet. Red, of course. I've learnt their names by now.

Red one: Heather Chandler. She's just… A tyrant.  
Green one: Heather Duke. (Or Heather Puke, they call her that for… Reasons I don't want to understand.)  
Yellow Heather: Heather McNamara. She's the nicest.

I feel the need to defend my almost friend, for some reason. Obviously the time is different, and he didn't have intent to actually kill anyone… Still, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. “He used blanks.” I suggest, and Heather McNamara nods to support me. Heather Chandler sighs and shakes her head, pressing her foot down on her ball and knocking Heather Duke's out of bounds. Duke groans and walks over, much to the amusement of the yellow one. I think I like color coding them. “Give it up, girl!” Heather McNamara laughs, but soon stops when Green manages to make the shot.

Red Heather looks almost defeated, but then a lady comes out. “Heather, your ride is here!” She calls. Is that supposed to be my mom? I guess so. Heather McNamara leads the others to the car, and I wave goodbye. I've learned to accept this, and I'm now just pretending that this is some role I have to keep up with. It's much more interesting than what I do in Middle Borough, at least. Pretending I'm just in a very vivid play makes this easier. When the Heathers have left, I remember that I'm supposed to be getting ready for a party. Red Heather told me about that. It's a university party, apparently, as if that's going to make much difference. I bet it's going to be loud and awful, but I'm still going. I start to head inside when I hear my pretend dad's voice. “Take a break, Jeremy. Sit down.” I comply, and sit down. There's pate on a tray that my fake mom brings. It's interesting that we eat outside, but of course I keep my mouth shut about that. 

“So, what was the first week of summer vacation withdrawal like?” First week? I guess it's a Friday, not that I'm keeping track at this point. “I don't know, uh, it was okay.” If I keep my answers vague, then things will be fine. I hope so, at least. Besides, what teenager actually goes into detail about their day at school? My play-pretend mom nods. “Hey kid, isn't the prom coming up?” She has a knowing smile as she takes a bite of her food, and I shrug. I really don't know, but of course I don't say that. “Maybe.” 

“Any contestants worth mentioning?” Uh oh. My mom gets a grin on her face, and I suddenly understand. The whole innocent question about the prom was just a ploy. She only wants to know who my crush is. Frankly, I don't know anyone well enough. “Um… No. Not yet.” I force a smile, and then stand up. “Thanks for dinner, I uh… Heather invited me to a party and I should go, I want to get ready.” My mom nods understandingly, waving me off. I hurry to my room, sighing. This is difficult. I'm lucky that the girls were here earlier or I wouldn't have even known where my room was. 

It's about an hour later when I'm finally ready. And no, I'm not a girl, shut up. I just didn't know what clothing options I had. From the look of things, I seem to actually be pretty popular. And red Heather definitely seems like the type to call me out if I wear the wrong thing. I settle on a grey sweater with some black pants and a black jacket. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I lick my hand and run it through my hair to keep it somewhat managed. I feel like a cat when I do that. God, what is my life right now? It's a moment later when I go to text Heather, but then I remember that I don't have a cell phone anymore. Do those exist right now? I need to brush up on my more recent history if I ever get back to where I'm supposed to be. Maybe I'll talk to Michael more.

I say goodbye to my fake parents and head onto the porch, where red Heather is waiting in a nice car, a Volkswagen Cabriolet . I bet you can guess what color. She honks the horn at me and I immediately shuffle down to the car a little faster, opening the door and getting in. It smells vaguely like spices. “Took you long enough! Hold on, get out. I need to check your outfit.” I sigh and get out of the car again, luckily I didn't buckle yet when she said that. Heather moves into the passenger seat for a moment and looks me up and down, clicking her tongue. “It'll do. Come on, we're making a pit stop.” She shifts back into her seat and I get in again, closing the door and buckling this time. “Where?” I ask stupidly. Why did I feel the need to speak?

We arrive at a convenience store. Snappy Snack Shack. Maybe Michael would like this place, he usually gets slushies from convenience stores like that. Heather pulls her car into a parking space near the front, next to a balck motorcycle. I get out as she demands. “Corn nuts! Barbecue!” She calls out the window and I nod, walking inside. I have never seen corn nuts. Maybe it's just a thing here-- in this time period, or wherever I am. I know I'm not in New Jersey, and that's the extent of my location awareness. Luckily, corn nuts are easy to find, and I grab a pack before going to pay. That's when I run into Jason Dean. Oh no.

“You gonna pull a super chug with that?” He asks, and I shake my head. “I uh… No, I'm only getting something for Heather.” I shrug and inch away. “Ah, Heather.. How's she doing?” He grins a bit at me, showing that he doesn't necessarily care how she's doing. “Fine, I guess. You seem to know your way around here.” I comment arbitrarily, and he nods. “Been moved around all my life; Dallas, Baton Rouge, Vegas,” He pauses. “Sherwood Ohio.” Ah, so I'm in Ohio. I thank him silently for letting me know that, though of course he isn't aware. “Anywhere I go, there's always a Snappy Snack Shack. Any town, any time, I can pop a ham and cheese in the microwave and feast on a turbo dog. Keeps me sane.” He motions with his fingers, twirling them near his head to gesture. I nod attentively. “Ah- Makes sense… What was with that thing you pulled in the cafeteria?” I gotta know.

“The extreme always seems to make an impression.”

Hearing that sets off a thousand red flags. This kid is bad news. “Ah… I guess so.” I look out the window and Heather honks impatiently. “Well I've gotta go.” I pay for the corn nuts and leave, waving pitifully and getting back into the red car. 

~

Words cannot describe how angry I am. That party was an absolute disaster, and I never want to see Heather Chandler again as long as I live. 

It was loud, and I got hit on by drunk people. I started to feel really sick too, and I told her that. She said we couldn't leave. So, I threw up on her shoes. I'm terrified, I'm totally going to die aren't I? This isn't good at all. I've blown my chance to be popular, tomorrow everyone is going to hate my guts. I'm lucky the internet isn't really prevalent around here, or everyone would already know.

I sit at the desk in my room after taking a shower and changing clothes, just trying to calm down. I'm so livid, and I want nothing more than to go home. My home, in New Jersey, and in the right time. My thoughts are interrupted when I see a figure in my window. What. The. Hell. It's none other that Jason Dean. I gasp loudly, freezing and sitting back in my chair as he comes in. 

“Dreadful etiquette, I apologize.” He grins at me. “I- Wh- 'S okay…” I stutter, my eyes still wide. It's not okay, but I'm frankly terrified of this man. “I saw the croquet set up in the back. You up for a match?” I don't know how to play, but I don't say that. “Sure…”

We go outside, and end up talking through the whole thing. Eventually we set our mallets aside and just sit down, talking. He's not as scary as I thought, it's just.. A different time. I have got to remember that. Our conversation shifts to the Heathers, and I wonder if I should tell him about everything… Of course not.

Instead, I end up ranting about the party. He looks mildly amused, and it ticks me off a bit but I don't say so. “Heather Chandler is the evil dictator of the school, Jeremiah.” He shrugs. I feel a shiver down my spine. Why'd he have to say my full name like that? “Trust me, I know..” I shift a bit uncomfortably on the ground. "She is one person that deserves to die.” Jason speaks so casually, so… Sure of himself. I'll never understand it. I can hardly form a sentence without stumbling or pausing at least once. “I mean, killing her wouldn't solve anything would it..? I say we just live out lives without murder.” He looks amused at my words, again. He doesn't seem to take anything seriously. It's infuriating. “Wouldn't you like to see her puke her guts out just once though?” I nod. I would like to see that, I hate her. That's a strong word I guess, but it fits how I feel about Heather Chandler perfectly.

Time moves in a blur, and now I'm climbing over a fence in what I presume to be Heather's yard. Does Jason Dean just know where everyone lives? It seems like it. “It's a Saturday morning. Do you really think we won't get in trouble for this?” I ask, and he just shrugs. Great. How comforting. Lucky for me, I find the spare key pretty easily and I'm able to get inside. God, even the house decor is mainly red. I can't get over that. The house is suspiciously quiet but it makes sense when I realize that there aren't even any cars in the driveway except Heather's. And, I know she doesn't share a car because she bragged a lot about having her own car on the way to that party. 

“What about like.. Milk and orange juice? She'll have a hangover, right? And we can say that this will help?” I suggest. That's what we came to do, make her throw up. That's all I wanted, some revenge. Childish I know. Jason eyes me warily, but nods. “Yeah.” He looks in a cabinet as I pull out a white mug and pour the liquids into it. Then, I get another idea. I'm forced to put it on hold as Jason pulls out a container of… Liquid drainer? It's an unnatural looking blue color. “I'm a no rust buildup man myself.” He jokes. At least I choose to assume he's joking. “Don't be a jerk, that stuff'll kill her..” I laugh anxiously and move over to look elsewhere. I find some soup cans and come. “What if we cook up some soup and put it in a coke? Wouldn't that be gross?” I offer, noticing that Jason has poured the blue liquid into a glass mug. I can't help but feel jittery. “Now, should it be uh… Chicken noodle or bean with bacon?” I smile weakly. “Would you put a lid on that stuff? I say we go with big blue here!” He laughs, and I shake my head. “She wouldn't drink something that looked like that anyway, come on..” “So we'll put it in this.” He pours the liquid into a white mug, identical to the one I had poured milk and orange juice in. “Okay… Let's just give her the milk and orange juice, jerk.” I sigh, closing my eyes as I walk down the hall. “Get the cup.” I remind Jason, going to Heather's room. He does, and follows me.

Heather's bedroom is way fancier than a teenage girl's room should be. Everything is perfect, and either a shade of red or pink. Of course. I approach her bed and after a moment, she shifts and wakes up. She doesn't even seem phased by our presence, she just rolls her eyes and sits. “Ah… Jeremy. And, Jesse James.” She mocks Jason with a grin. “Quelle surprise.” I don't know that language but I can infer what it means, at least. “Hear about Jeremy's affection for regurgitation?” She smirks evilly and looks at Jason, who just smiles back. “Anyway. How the hell'd you two even get in here?” I don't answer.

“Jeremy knew you'd have a hangover, so I whipped this up for you. Family recipe.” He holds out the cup, and I try not to laugh. Heather snorts. “What, did you cough up a phlegm globber in it or something? I'm not drinking that.” Jason shrugs, turning. “I knew this stuff would be too intense for her.” He shoots her a glance. Heather laughs and pulls out the red scrunchie she'd been wearing. “Intense.” She rolls her eyes. “What, you think I'll drink it just because you call me chicken?” 

A pause, then,

“Give me the cup, jerk!” Heather takes it and doesn't even bother to look inside. She just downs the whole thing. I laugh, ready for her to gag, but… I see blue on her lips. “You grabbed the wrong cup?!” I widen my eyes as I stare at Jason. 

I don't have much time to think though, because I jolt awake in a panic. Where am I now?! I soon realize I'm in Michael's basement, and a movie just ended. “Dude, did you sleep the whole time?” He asks incredulously. “I guess I did, yeah..”


End file.
